


Writer's Embarrassment

by matrixrefugee



Category: Castle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 10:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrixrefugee/pseuds/matrixrefugee
Summary: Castle has writer's block. Kate tries to help.





	Writer's Embarrassment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "fic_promptly"'s [any, any, writer's block](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/133487.html?thread=6221679#cmt6221679) Featuring an uninspired Rick Castle and a mischievous Kate Beckett (as well as a riff from something on the blog on Castle's website and something Neil Gaiman had written about writer's block).

The coffee shop was one of Castle's favorite places to write, next to the old pub where he'd penned his early works: he'd found the place when Alexis was small and he'd needed some place kid-friendly to work. The atmosphere here usually got the creative juices flowing -- the old book covers and dust jackets on the walls, along with autographed photos of some of the authors who had come here to write -- and the coffee was strong enough to keep the head clear without making one over-caffeinated.

But today he sat before the laptop on the table, tapping on the keyboard in a desultory way. He'd peck out a few sentences or the odd "the" or "a" and end up mashing the backspace button to erase the whole thing.

The door opened with a jangle of bells and a shadow moved across his table. Beckett sat down on the chair across from his. "Suffering a bout of writer's block?" she asked.

"Nope, not writer's block: it's writer's embarrassment," he said. "There's no such thing as writer's block, only cases when you're so embarrassed with the drivel you've got churning around in your head, that you'd rather spend the rest of your life parking cars at the Ritz, than afflicting the public with the chum that you'd be dumping onto the page," he said.

"Are you just trying to cover your butt or are you genuinely stuck?" she asked.

"I'm not stuck, so much as I'm finding a hard way to frame the next scene without it looking a first grader slapped it together with tinfoil and macaroni," he said, sitting back from the laptop, meshing his fingers behind his head. "Not even my muse coming by to offer inspiration is helping."

She darted a glare at him. "Well, considering your images there, I'd say you're less uninspired or embarrassed than you think you are," she said, with that clipped tone of irritation she used when he was getting under her skin.


End file.
